


kiss it better

by tisapear



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter, Banter during sex, Consensual Kink, Consensual Underage Sex, Established Relationship, Fingersucking, M/M, Mild Degredation Kink, Smitten Iwa-chan, sickness kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisapear/pseuds/tisapear
Summary: There's a reason why Hajime's always so insistent that he can take care of a sick Tooru by himself.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	kiss it better

Hajime lets himself in without knocking. He's had a copy of the keys for years, and it's not like anyone's present to mind anyway—Tooru's parents are in France, or maybe Italy, he's not too sure, and he doesn't want to risk waking Tooru in case he was finally able to get some sleep. 

He deposits his schoolbag on the dresser in the hallway, takes the cheap grocery store bag into the kitchen. Some fresh chicken and vegetables, he's gonna start on a soup later on if Tooru can stomach it. He wasn't too bad off in the morning, only a light cough, a mild fever, a bit of a sore throat, but from experience Hajime knows that Tooru gets progressively worse over the duration of the day, so he'll have to wait and see. Although Tooru's last message, dating back three hours ago, just when practice started, was coherent enough, so Hajime's not too worried. 

He still makes a fresh cup of tea, puts the different dried herbs Tooru's mother's collected all over the contintens into a filter, fills a bowl with cold water while he lets the tea steep. He knows there should be some ice cubes left in the freezer, and he puts those into the bowl, too. 

The tea is ready when he gets back from the bathroom with a clean piece of cloth. He puts in some honey and lemon, stirs until the two ingredients have turned the beverage a lighter shade. 

He doesn't bother knocking on Tooru's bedroom door, either, is instead focused on opening it quietly. A quick glance reveals the room shrouded in darkness, the only light the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling Tooru's been in love with since they were little. Leaving the door a crack open, Hajime puts the tray on the bedside table and kneels next to the bed, eyes its sleeping occupant. Tooru's breathing is soft, barely audible, but his cheeks are red and his hair damp with sweat, his forehead warm when Hajime puts the back of his hand against it. _Too_ warm, he decides, dunks the cloth into the ice water and wrings it out before he places it on Tooru's forehead.

He pushes strands of hair behind his ear, sweaty and sticky against Hajime's skin, trails his fingers down the side of Tooru's face, fever-heat painting it a pretty crimson. That easy contact seems to have been enough to wake Tooru, lashes fluttering as a sleepy noise escapes his lips. 

"Hey, sleepyhead," Hajime whispers, presses his still cold hands against Tooru's hot cheeks, who gratefully leans into it, chasing that short-lived relief.

"You're already back? How was practice?" Tooru mumbles, one eye barely cracked open, and Hajime laughs.

"Shut up about practice, idiot. It went like it always does." 

"So pining idiots everywhere?" 

"Well, they do take after their captain in that regard." 

Tooru makes an affronted noise, blearily opens both eyes so he can better glare at Hajime. It just looks ridiculously adorable, his usually meticulously kept hair in disarray and his eyes still wet from sleeping the day away. "I haven't been _pining_ since I was fourteen. As you are well aware." 

"Still," Hajime hums, rakes his fingers through the sweaty tangles. "You were quite pathetic."

"Like you weren't," Tooru mutters and sits up, involuntarily makes Hajime grin because if he can already snark like that, he's not as bad off as Hajime feared. 

"No-pe," he, says, pops the P, ignores Tooru's scowl and grabs for the cup of tea. "Drink," he orders, pushes the cup into Tooru's hands when he doesn't take it himself. Tooru's scowl deepens as he stares into the depths of the herbal blend. 

"I don't wanna," he exclaims, the sudden movement of shaking his head making the cloth on his forehead fall down onto the comforter. Then he looks at Hajime in a perfect mix of kicked puppy and agitated chihuahua like this is all his fault and he better fix it before Tooru will pout at him for five whole hours. (Like he doesn't already do that on the regular, like that's any threat at all.) 

"Don't be a baby."

"'Don't be a baby,' he says. Well, mister, you're not the one about to get poisoned by his own goddamn boyfr—" 

It's easy to take the cup back, even easier to hold a few sips of the tea in his mouth. It's hot on his tongue, almost scalding, honestly, but Hajime still leans forward, grabs Tooru by the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, before he mashes their mouths together, Tooru's conveniently open from his previous ranting. Tooru makes a pitiful noise against his mouth, pulls at the front of Hajime's shirt, but Hajime doesn't relent until every single drop of the tea is secure in Tooru's mouth, then stays until he's sure the other actually swallowed all of it. 

When he lets off he stares at the slick shine on Tooru's pouting lips, who's already whining again, pathetically rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth. 

"Ugh, gross, Iwa-chan," he laments dramatically, picture-perfect imitation of the poor wife who just lost her husband in the war, and Hajime can feel excitement zip through his veins, has to suppress the shiver dancing down his spine. 

_Gross, Iwa-chan. So gross. Disgusting._

Instead he focuses on Tooru, the way his tongue visibly roams over his teeth. "You know how hard it is to get rid of that horrible taste, and yet you still force this poisonous concoction on your poor, bed-ridden, defenseless boyfriend! I thought you loved me, but maybe betrayal is all that is left." 

Hajime rolls his eyes, pushes his palm against Tooru's chest so he's lying back down. "Or maybe you should have joined the Theater Club instead of Volleyball."

At that, Tooru flutters his lashes. "What, so you'd have an excuse to stare at me all day?" 

"No, so I'd finally have some peace and quiet while you're busy bothering other people." 

Indignant squawking, a script engraved into their very beings, and Tooru punches his shoulder, pout already back. "Mean, Iwa-chan. So, so mean," he accuses, pokes Hajime's nose with every word.

Hajime rakes his eyes over him, observes the way his shirt carelessly slides off one shoulder, revealing fever-pink skin undernearth (it's too big, probably one of Hajime's, Tooru's always liked to wear his clothes when he's sick, has since they were kids), the ridiculous alien-print bandana wrapped around his throat, the sharp smell of vick vaporub palpable even through the layer of cloth. His eyes wide and glassy, his lashes sticky, face rose-tinged and glistening. Hajime puts his fingertips against Tooru's bare collarbone, takes in the quick rhythm of his heart, the unnatural warmth of his skin. 

He licks his lips, unconsciously, but immediately becomes aware of it once he catches sight of Tooru's predatory smile, the glint in his eyes.

It's quickly replaced by something considerably watered down, though, a tiny quirk tugging at his lips, an innocence in his eyes they both know is nothing but fabrication. His voice a barely-there murmur as he fiddles with Hajime's tie, an underneath-the-lashes look directed upwards. "Kiss it better, Hajime?"

Pitter-patterning of his school-boy heart like it's on fire and desperately trying to extinguish the flames. Blood-rush-thrum in his ears as his skin begins to prickle, pleasant expectation-sensation pulling his stomach taut. 

He lets out a breath, fingertips dancing over that daunting sliver of a milky shoulder. Slips two fingers under the worn cotton, down Tooru's upper arm, back up again, so close to the armpit, another scorching heat that makes Hajime's fingertips burn in anticipation. 

"I don't know, you don't look so good. Maybe we shouldn't." Faux-casual is what he's going for, and he knows he's not fooling anyone, but Tooru's always been fond of his games. 

Tooru dips his lashes, grabs Hajime's wrist, stopping the bold appendix so close from striking gold. "Ah," he breaths out, presses a kiss against Hajime's pulse point, lips tea-warmed. "I'm sure Iwa-chan's _medicine_ will be enough to cure me."

Dirty and cheap, bad porno line delivered like he has an audience of a million unknown faces, the internet's newest greatest home video sensation, and not like he's only ever putting on a show for the one spectator.

He takes Hajime's fingers into his mouth, hums around the digits like they're a sweet treat he's been waiting on all day. Hajime can't help the sharp exhale that escapes him, the warm tingle on his cheeks as he intensely follows Tooru's every action, doesn't dare blink or breath in fear of missing even a second of that pink tongue coating his fingers in sweet honey-lemon-breath, Tooru-patented. 

He doesn't know what possesses him in the next moment—he never does; he rips his fingers out of Tooru's mouth, almost violently, if Tooru's surprised yelp is anything to go by, and throws himself over the other, knees digging into Tooru's thighs as he forcefully grabs that pretty face, slick fingers on a burning cheek.

Tooru doesn't look scared at the intensity of Hajime's stare, nor does he seem disgusted by the prospect of having his own saliva smeared all over his cheek. Instead he laughs, a short and breathy thing. "Always so easy, Hajime," he says, a singsong statement as he locks amused eyes with Hajime's. 

Hajime bites his lip, flicks wild eyes from a smiling mouth to rosy cheeks to glassy eyes, and he unconsciously puts more of his weight on Tooru's body as the other turns his head to the side to cough weakly, a grating sound, testament to the terrible day he's had so far, must hurt so _beautifully._

He inhales, exhales, cups one hand around Tooru's chin to turn his head so he's facing him again. "Well, you can't be _too_ sick if you're already mouthing off again," he muses, enjoys the way Tooru's throat ripples with hasty swallows as Hajime pushes his hand under the other's t-shirt, pulls it up so his stomach is bared to the cool air in the room. A shiver shakes that gorgeous body, and maybe it's because of the sudden onslaught of cold air, or because of the fever, or because of Hajime's fingers, languidly making their way up to Tooru's ribs where they stay as he dips his head and nips at the exposed skin, etches phantom-marks into flesh still littered with the shadows of Hajime's latest masterpiece. Careful so there's nothing left to see, but that's no reason not to make it memorable.

He makes his way up, up, up, a kiss right against the breastbone, lets Tooru's t-shirt flutter down. 

"Should fuck you open with your own germ-ridden spit," he mouths against Tooru's cheek, one hand gliding past the waistband of Tooru's sweatpants. At the sensation of nails digging into his hip, Tooru gasps, grabs at Hajime's arm.

"You're disgusting, Iwa-chan." And he might say so, might throw Hajime a downright appalled look, but he can feel the hardness against his own, the way Tooru thinks he's being sly despite obviously wriggling around so they're better aligned.

"Yeah, well, still turns you on, so what does that say about you?" 

"That you've infected me with your sick fetishes, duh."

Hajime halts in his movements, pulls back so he can eye Tooru incredulously. "That was terrible. Even for you. And that's saying something." 

"Ex _cuse_ you? That from the guy who thought Totooru was the pun of the year?" 

"Yeah, 'cause it's _cute_ , so it fits you."

Of course that makes Tooru whine again, throw his head to the side like that will hide the heat crawling over his face that's decidedly unrelated to the fever. 

Hajime thinks that's cute, too, so he lets Tooru know by pulling his pants and underwear down in one swift move. 

"Nooo, Iwa-chan! I'm already freezing to death!" 

"Don't worry, we're gonna warm you up again in just a moment."

He shoves one leg up so it's bent at the knee, nudges the other to the side so he can scoot into the newly created space. Tooru lets out a breath at his actions, tangles his fingers into Hajime's hair and pulls until he's looking up. "Gee, Iwa-chan, don't be so rough. I'm still sick, you know?" he gripes.

Hajime merely smirks, pays no mind to the hand still holding onto his hair as he ducks his head and latches onto the tantalizing patch of skin of Tooru's inner thigh. 

_"Not where everyone can see,"_ he used to complain at first, pouting at the mirror-image that displayed the red bruises on his throat and collarbone, not considering that the skin of his inner thighs, of his hips and his ankles and his feet, can be kept hidden so very easily.

Hajime's nothing if not adaptable.

Scraping teeth over flesh, gliding nails over skin, and Tooru's warm all over. So, _so_ warm, hot edges and ridges and grooves, all free for Hajime to explore to his heart's content. 

A kiss a little too high up, lips a butterfly-touch of a thing, and he can feel the muscles of Tooru's leg spasm against his cheek, knows without looking Tooru's curling his toes into the bedding underneath, biting his lip to keep his anticipation hidden for a little longer as if he was able to in the first place. 

One last graze of teeth, indents that will barely be hidden from curious eyes in the locker room, before he lets off, scoots back and locks eyes with Tooru, usually so warm brown swimming in a pool of black ink.

 _Don't look so cocky,_ Tooru would chastise him if he was thinking clearly. 

But he's not, so Hajime dips his fingers into the bowl, the water still a pleasant freezing. Tooru follows the action with eager eyes, brows raised, and Hajime answers his silent question by holding his fingers up to his mouth. "Your gums gotta hurt, right?" And he doesn't wait for an answer before he's already pushing his fingers past cracked lips. 

Tooru coughs against the sudden intrusion and Hajime can't help himself at the sound; he curls his fingers against the other's tongue, rakes his nails over the rough top and down into the soft folds underneath, back along the outside of his teeth, puts pressure against the gums. Hajime can feel the vibrations zip through his bones as Tooru whines at the sudden pain, but it just eggs him on, makes him increase the pressure. He only lets off once Tooru starts pawing at his arm, his wrist, tears in the corners of his eyes. 

He runs his fingers over the insides of his mouth, massages circles into the soft wall of his cheek, half apology, half reassurance, and smiles almost serenely when Tooru has to cough again. 

"Suck," he breaths against Tooru's already damp face, enarmored with the way his hazy eyes sluggishly try to track the movement of Hajime's lips before they land on the knuckles almost nudging against his own lips. Hajime can feel him swallow around his fingers, wishes he could shove them down farther and farther, see how far they can go and check just how irriated the inside of his throat really is, how it would feel against the pads of his fingers. 

The movements of Tooru's tongue are clumsy, but Hajime doesn't mind. He knows it's not easy with four fingers, even if Hajime leaves them loose for Tooru to use however he likes. It's alright, though, it's not for necessity's sake anyway. 

Once satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, moves them this way and that way and observes the clear saliva-webbing between his fingers with avid attention. 

"You're horrible," Tooru murmurs, his voice cracking halfway through the last word. He tries to clear his throat, shakes his head and sniffles when that doesn't help. 

Hajime shrugs and grabs for the bedside drawer with his dry hand, fishes out the new bottle of lube they just got last week. He opens the cap noisily, the sound loud in the room and only accompanied by Tooru's heavy breathing Hajime knows stems more from a day full of coughing fits than arousal. 

He doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all. 

He pours a generous amount over each of his fingers, doesn't bother being careful not to drop some onto the sheets since they'll have to change them anyway, once they're finished. 

Tooru stares at his hand and wrinkles his nose. "Eww, you're not serious. At least wash it off," he complains, indicates at the bowl of water, but Hajime smirks and pointedly rubs his fingers together. 

"Don't play coy, it doesn't suit you." That's all he says before he hooks one of Tooru's legs over his shoulder, underwear and sweatpants pooled around the ankle and all. 

"Gross, Hajime. Absolutely revolting. You're the worst."

"Yeah, sweet-talk me. You know how much I like it when you do that."

"You would. Nasty pig, Iwa-chan. Detestable barbarian. You _sicken_ me, Hajime."

Grin pulling at the skin of his face, excitement pooling in his teeth. He eases his finger inside, careful not to go too fast. Doesn't matter how much he _wants_ , how strong need burns in his veins—taking care of Tooru will always come first, so he ignores the other's complaints about hurrying up before he falls asleep. 

Past the nail, the first knuckle, then the second, up to the third. A blazing cavern, walls radiating delicious heat, and Hajime craves nothing more than to claim it as his own like it's the first time again. So he curls his finger, just a little, just _so_ , but enough for Tooru to gasp and dig his fingers into Hajime's shoulder.

"C'mon Hajime, _more._ " 

He chuckles, uncurls his finger and turns it left, then back in the other direction. "Impatient, aren't we?" 

" _You're_ not the one who had to wait the whole day, alone and bored out of his mind." 

Hajime grins as he adds a second finger, puts the palm of his hand against Tooru's chin and hooks his thumb into his mouth, pulls at the inside of his cheek until Tooru looks sufficiently annoyed and distracted enough so he can add a third finger. "And _you_ weren't the one who had to endure Kindaichi's endless inquiries about poor Oikawa-senpai for hours on end while the only thing he could think about was getting inside you."

A hitch in Tooru's breath. Hajime removes his finger from Tooru's mouth, satisfied, and places his hand on Tooru's hip. 

"He's a sweet kid, but if I hear one more Oikawa-senpai out of his mouth I'm personally gonna spike a ball into his face." He quickens the pace of his fingers, careful to make sure Tooru's adequately stretched. _"Is Oikawa-senpai alright, Iwaizumi-senpai? Is it bad? Will Oikawa-senpai be able to come back to practice tomor—"_ He's cut off by Tooru slinging his other leg around his side. He digs his heel into the small of Hajime's back, pushes him forward so their noses are touching. 

"S-stop t-talking about that while y—ou're— _a-a-ah—_ "

Hajime lets out a delighted huff of air at the noise Tooru makes, the way his eyes slip closed and he arches his back. He increases the speed, mindful of the spot that coaxes such pretty sounds out of Tooru, and puts his mouth over Tooru's so he can swallow them right after coming into existence. Enjoys the wet heat and the feeling of Tooru's slick skin against his own, the bitter-healthy taste still stuck on his tongue. He moves his lips to the side, licks a wet stripe from the corner of Tooru's mouth to his cheekbone, follows it up by rubbing the spit in with his thumb. 

"Disgusting," Tooru forces out between pants. Hajime lazily caresses the side of his face. 

"You said that already." 

Then he removes his fingers. Tooru cries out, fists his hair. "Not all at once, you brute!" he grouses. 

Hajime ignores him as he looks for the bottle of lube, but Tooru seems to have an issue with that, too, pulls at his hair, and Hajime throws him a look from the corner of his eye. _"What?"_

"I'm sure it's enough." 

Furrowing his brows, Hajime continues searching despite the protest. "I know you're into the whole rough-bordering-on-painful thing, but not while you're sick." 

Tooru, as expected, whines, so Hajime detangles his fingers from his hair with his free hand, intertwines them for a moment and squeezes. "Next time," he promises, then fumbles with the buckle of his belt, fingers shaking. He silently curses, tells himself to get a grip, no need to feel nervous now; but this is something he could never shake, the simmering anticipation lying dormant under his bones whenever it comes to Tooru. 

Deft fingers wind between his own, open the buckle with practiced ease. Tooru gives him a knowing look as he lowers the zipper agonizingly slowly, and Hajime rolls his eyes, bats Tooru's hands away as he quickly pulls his pants and underwear off, doesn't bother with his uniform shirt and tie. Tooru's already offering him the bottle of lube, what a good boy, and Hajime makes quick work of it, spreads it over himself before he throws the bottle away without looking where, eagerly grabs for Tooru, hands roaming over his thighs and sides and anywhere he can grab. Tooru laughs, breathless excitement, legs spread invitingly. 

Refusal never crosses Hajime's mind 

Stretched from his fingers and wet with spit and lube and sweat. It's a familiar space, been tending to it for years now, and it always feels a little like coming home.

Hajime told him that once, enjoyed the way Tooru's face immediately went blazing. "You can't just _say_ stuff like that," he complained, like he isn't CEO of saying inappropiate things just to get a rise out of people. 

Hajime waits, lets Tooru adjust, but an amused huff from Tooru distracts him. He looks at him, questioningly.

"Licking my tonsils isn't exactly what I had in mind when I told you to 'kiss it better', you know."

Hajime pinches his side, mutters an annoyed _shut up_ , but Tooru simply laughs, brings Hajime's face back to his own. "Just kidding," he whispers, before he slots his lips back over Hajime's, tongue and teeth and the irresistable heat of his fever-mouth. 

It's actually a little funny, if you think about it. Downright hilarious from his point of view, Tooru once told him. 

_Kiss it better,_ Tooru said way back when, and probably meant a quick peck on his cheeks, his forehead, maybe even the corner of his mouth, if Hajime felt really daring.

Instead Hajime leaned down and planted one right on his lips, used some tongue, too, just to see the dumbfounded expression on Tooru's face. 

It just—it kind of escalated from there.

Tooru was quick to make it a habit, _kiss it better_ , uttered looking all innocent-miserable in his cocoon of sickness, but Hajime's known him long enough to notice the daring glint in his glassy eyes, the almost demanding curl to his pathetically held out fingers. 

And Hajime would comply, every time, because what else was there to do. He wouldn't deny Tooru something he so clearly initiated for both their sakes.

Tooru's always been so good at satisfying the raging hunger of the beast native to Hajime's chest.

A tap against his chest, then another, Tooru wordlessly conveying he's ready, and Hajime carefully rocks into him, takes his time to get a steady rhythm going. Usually Tooru would whine at him at this point, _go, Hajime, I'm not made of fucking glass, I can take it, go faster, harder, **anything** , Hajime, c'mon, **c'mon**_ , but like this, he's sweet and pliant, fully gives himself over to Hajime, high-pitched moans the only thing leaving his mouth. 

But Hajime's no saint, never claimed to be one, and Tooru's fingers on his back, dancing over the side of his throat, his lips pressed against Hajime's, are more encouragement than he needs. 

His steady rhythm quickly turns rapid, frantic where it used to be languid, and Tooru nips at Hajime's lips, sucks on his tongue, nails digging into his skin sure to leave obvious marks. 

( _Another hot night, Iwaizumi? Must be some girl to leave those things,_ his team's teasing remarks, Tooru's sly look for no one to see but the inside of his locker, the others completely clueless, have no idea just how far off they are.)

He comes with whispers of Tooru's name pressed into his collarbone, feels Tooru's own release slpash warm and familiar against the bottom of his shirt. He rubs his hands over Tooru's arm and side, murmurs of praise falling from his lips, and flicks his gaze upwards when no reaction comes. 

Knocked out, eyes slipped shut, breathing even despite his rabbit-pace of a heartbeat. Hajime laughs, can't help it. "This hasn't happened in a while," he murmurs to himself, caresses his thumb down Tooru's face. He lies still for a while longer, enjoys the lazy buzz of his afterglow, the sweet feeling of being sated, before he eases himself out of Tooru, winces at the over-sensitive sensation. 

Right, then. Time to clean Tooru up.

* * *

The front door clicks open quietly and his mom questioningly sticks her head through the gap. She smiles when she spies them on the couch, Tooru's head in Hajime's lap as the latter runs his fingers through wet strands, the TV a pleasant background noise.

His mom approaches, crouches down in front of the couch so she can get a good look at Tooru's slack face. She presses the backs of her hands against his cheeks. "He already looks so much better than when I last checked in on him."

Hajime hums in agreement, never falters in his soothing motions. "Yeah, think he just needed to sweat it out."

His mom nods in agreement, tenderly brushes a strand behind Tooru's ear. She frowns as she does so, though, lips pursed.

"Oh, but the poor thing is wet as a dog! Was his fever that high?"

"Nah, don't worry, mom. I just gave him a bath earlier, thought it might do him good to clean up after lying in his own filth the whole day."

At that, his mom cracks a smile, a teasing one Hajime's convinced she got from Tooru's dad. "How considerate of you, Hajime-chan, taking such good care of your future husband."

 _"Kaa-san,"_ Hajime hisses, wishes her words weren't so true since he's known exactly what ring Tooru wants since they were sixteen. 

A soft laugh escapes her, one hand cupped over her mouth. "Alright, alright. I just wanted to check in on you two, but since you seem to have everything under control, I'll leave you to it. Make sure he gets better soon, though, your father's already grumbling how 'weirdly quiet the house is without Tooru's constant blabbering,' the old grouch. "

Gently caressing the side of Tooru's face with his knuckles, he sends his mom a smile, a soft, thankful one. 

His parents are the best, love Tooru almost as much as he does. He couldn't wish for a better family.

"Sure, Kaa-san. Bet Tooru already misses constantly changing the channel from dad's documentaries to cartoons, too."

Tooru sniffles, curls closer against Hajime in his sleep, and Hajime doesn’t suppress the fond smile as he places a soft kiss against Tooru's temple.

 _Get well soon_ , he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> I could not have chosen a worse time for this kink


End file.
